


All the Love in the World

by alocalband



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittle Family Feels, Christmas, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alocalband/pseuds/alocalband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty’s hands are shaking. He has five missed calls from Jack, two from Chowder, one from Lardo, and an astronomical number of yet to be viewed text messages.</p><p>It’s not that he hasn’t been <em>checking</em> his phone, it’s that every time he’s picked it up at an alert, all he’s been able to do is stare at it. Which is what he’s doing now, as he waits for his mother to finish speaking with the doctor at Coach’s bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Love in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr [here.](http://alocalband.tumblr.com/post/145988235000/152-zimbits-please)

Bitty’s hands are shaking. He has five missed calls from Jack, two from Chowder, one from Lardo, and an astronomical number of yet to be viewed text messages.

It’s not that he hasn’t been _checking_ his phone, it’s that every time he’s picked it up at an alert, all he’s been able to do is stare at it. Which is what he’s doing now, as he waits for his mother to finish speaking with the doctor at Coach’s bedside. 

Sitting in the hospital waiting room, Bitty hasn’t felt this scared and useless since he was getting shoved into lockers back in high school.

He needs to text back. Even if he hasn’t managed to reach out to anyone for the sake of his _own_ emotional well-being, Eric Richard Bittle will be damned if he doesn’t take care of everyone else’s, no matter the current situation. He needs to make sure that no one’s too worried over him.

All the same, once he’s unlocked his phone, all he manages to type out is a pithy, _So I might be in a hospital right now…_

He’s hoping to sound flippant, like maybe if he makes light of the situation to everyone else, it’ll start feeling like less of an awful weight in his chest. 

But as soon as he presses ‘send’ he knows Jack will take it the wrong way. Or, well, the _right_ way, really. So he draws in a deep breath and prepares to elaborate… only to be interrupted by Jack calling him again. 

For the first time in 24 hours, he answers. “Jack?”

“Bitty? Eric? What happened? Are you–”

“Coach had a heart attack,” he interrupts in a rush of air, and feels like his whole body deflates as he finally says it out loud. It’s real now. 

There’s silence for a moment. Then: “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“No. Jack. You don’t have to–“

“I’m already in my car, Bittle. I’m coming down.”

Bitty knew he’d do this, and maybe even secretly hoped he would. But he’s been too nervous to ask for it, feels selfish for even considering it, and so has been putting off this phone call as much because he couldn’t process everything as because he didn’t want the resulting guilt.

Jack is in Montreal for Christmas with his family while Bitty is down in Georgia with his. They’ve only been dating eight months now and haven’t told a soul about it. Lord, Bitty’s parents don’t even know he’s _gay_ , let alone that he has a professional athlete boyfriend who’d drop everything in a heartbeat to fly down and be with him during a crisis.

Quietly, Jack asks, “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Or… I will be. Coach is alright, too. I don’t know the details yet, Mama’s back with him and the doctor right now, but he’s coherent? I’m just… I was scared, and I’m still not quite…“

Jack makes gentle shushing noises over the phone. Bitty doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a tear falls onto his knee and soaks a spot into his jeans. “I promise I’m okay,” he says around a stuttered breath. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, Jack, you should be with your family.”

“ _Bitty_ ,” Jack sighs, and his voice is almost a whisper but so sure, and so very grounding. “I will be.”

They hang up once Jack is at the airport and Mama comes back out to collect Bitty. She promises that everything will be fine. Coach is strong, just prone to eating a little too much fried food. She laughs a little, but it’s a fragile effort, and she’s obviously been crying. Bitty hugs her tightly, and then braces himself to finally go see his father.

Bitty has never seen Coach look so small, so _breakable,_ as he does now, lying in a hospital bed. But he holds back the urge to start crying again, because the instinct to bite back such strong emotions around his father is still well ingrained.

Coach must see something in his eyes, though. Because the moment he catches sight of Bitty, he reaches out a hand for him. “Junior…”

They’re not the most tactile family. Coach, in particular, really only expresses affection through subtle nods of approval in Bitty’s direction, or, very occasionally, a comforting hand on Bitty’s shoulder. But he hugs his son close now, and Bitty holds on as tight as he dares around all the tubes and wires, feeling a bit of the tension in his shoulders start to fall away.

It falls away even more that night when Jack calls him from his rental car, on the road from the nearest airport to Madison. “Are you still at the hospital?”

“Coach ordered us home for the evening. Mama’s currently stress-baking up a storm, and I’m trying to stay out of her way. Though Lord knows I’m going a little crazy not being able to get in there myself and start in on a few dozen pies.”

“I can be there in thirty minutes. Or I can get a hotel. I wasn’t sure…”

“I want you here. Please. I haven’t told Mama yet, but I’ll go talk to her now.”

“You can tell her I was going to come anyway. That my schedule didn’t line up with my parents, and you didn’t want me to be alone on Christmas. I didn’t really come up with a story, but I’ll go along with whatever you think will work.”

“No, I…” Bitty closes his eyes. “I don’t want to have to lie to anyone tonight. If that’s alright by you.”

Jack’s voice is so gentle and full of love it breaks Bitty’s heart a little. “Yeah, Bitty. That’s definitely alright by me.”

Bitty finds his mother in the kitchen exactly as he left her an hour ago, kneading dough so hard into the floured countertop it’s a wonder she hasn’t broken straight through. Looking at her, he feels suddenly and horrifically like this is the most selfish thing he’s ever done. What if telling her about Jack, about himself, is what finally sends her over the edge? What if this is just one more stress on her already frayed nerves and weary heart? What if…

What if his father hadn’t been so lucky today, and Bitty had never had the guts to…

“Mama, I need to tell you something.”

“Dickey, I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“It’s important.” He swallows. “Jack’s on his way.”

His mother stops kneading dough and turns around to give him a puzzled look as she wipes her hands on her apron. Her eyes are no longer bloodshot, at least. She always was tough as nails, despite what her petite stature and cheery disposition might suggest. “Jack?”

“I called him from the hospital. I was just, I was so worried about Coach, and– And I couldn’t bear just sitting there without… without…” He pauses to take a deep breath and collect himself, wringing his hands together.

“Dickey,” his mother says kindly, stepping forward to brush her fingertips across Bitty’s cheek, “I understand you needed a friend, but it’s practically Christmas, and Jack– That boy has a big heart, I know, but you can’t let him put a friend in need before his own family. Not at the holidays, Honey, it isn’t fair to him or to them.”

“I know. And if Jack were a friend, I wouldn’t even think to, Mama, I’d never, but he’s not– He’s… I’m…”

His mother blinks, as though startled by the admission that Bitty just can’t quite work himself up to actually say. And then her whole face crumples.

Bitty’s veins flood with ice. His entire body goes numb for one heart-stopping second.

But then his mama pulls him into her with both arms wrapped tightly around him, shaking a little and choking back a tiny sob that almost sounds like a laugh. “Oh Dickey.” She holds onto him like Bitty can’t remember her doing since he was child. “He loves you?” she asks into his shoulder.

“So much,” Bitty nods his head frantically and clings to her, crying now, too, of course. Lord, he’s a mess. This entire day is a mess that he wishes would just end already. “And me too. Mama, me too.”

“ _Good_ ,” she whispers fiercely, giving him one more tight squeeze and then pulling away just far enough to look him in the eyes, a hand on each of his shoulders. 

“Good,” she says again. “You are the best thing that I have ever done, Eric Richard Bittle, and I’m just as convinced of that now as I ever have been, do you understand me? You deserve all the love in world, and Jack…” She draws in a steadying breath, and wipes away any traces of tears. “Jack Zimmermann is about to be gifted with his weight in pie, but I’ll put some cookies in the oven, too, so he’s not completely overwhelmed. You go take a shower and straighten up before he gets here and finds the disaster we’ve managed to work ourselves into today.”

Bitty showers quickly, and then puts cleans sheets on the bed in the guest room. The knock at the front door sends him into instant motion, hurtling towards it and launching himself at Jack once it’s open. 

Jack, for his part, wraps Bitty up without missing a beat, nearly lifting him into the air.

It will never not take Bitty’s breath away how perfectly he and Jack fit together, how easily. Curled around each other as close as is possible to get, it’s like their bodies were made just for this. And for a single moment, Bitty feels like everything in the whole world will be okay.

That won’t always be the case, he knows. And might not even be now, though Coach is supposedly doing well, and will ultimately continue to do well with medication and a diet change. But Bitty still can’t stop flashing back to the sight of his father in a hospital bed. Can’t stop thinking about how his perception of the most steady and unshakable man he’s ever known is now completely upturned.

“ _I’ve got you,_ ” Jack whispers.

“I’m sorry I spoiled your Christmas,” Bitty whispers back, heart clenching as he realizes he’s going to have to let go at some point.

“ _Mon Coeur,_ you have nothing to be sorry for.” Jack leans away, but keeps his arms around Bitty, their bodies pressed together. “You always somehow find your way to me every time I need you. If I can do the same even half as often…” He shakes his head a little, and offers a small, self-deprecating sort of smile. “I love you, Bitty. If you need me here, then there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Bitty could kiss him, and nearly does, but pulls himself together at the sound of his Mama’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Dickey! Quit letting in the cold and shut the door!”

He smiles and steps back, his heart so full of affection for his Mama and for Jack, even while half of it is still trembling and terrified back at his father’s bedside.

Jack remains politely distant from Bitty when they first enter the kitchen together, only to be knocked backwards by a Suzanne Bittle tackle-hug, and a hushed but firm, “You are always welcome in this home, ya hear? You came all this way for Dickey, and that’s… I’m just so glad. I’m so glad, Sweetheart.”

After that, it almost seems too easy to find a quiet rhythm. Dinner is a somber affair, but not as difficult as Bitty had feared. Jack holds his hand while sitting beside him at the table, wielding his fork with his left just so that he doesn’t have to let go. 

Later on, they eat homemade cookies and drink instant coffee while Mama fusses over the placement of an extra stocking for Jack. _It’s a Wonderful Life_ plays in the background as Bitty and his mother write down an elaborate “to do” list of everything that will need to happen in order for Coach not to miss out on Christmas even while still in the hospital, and Jack remains a warm and comforting presence at Bitty’s side.

It isn’t until they all depart for bed, at a much later hour than they should have, that Bitty lets reality descend.

“Mama,” he says quietly, catching her arm before she ascends the stairs. Jack is already up them and showering in the guest bath. “What do I tell Jack?”

His mother looks confused. “Tell him about what?”

“About where to go on Christmas! Obviously he can’t–“

“Dickey, he’s welcome there, too. Of course he is.”

Bitty tries not to start crying again. “But Coach…”

“I know, Honey, and it’ll be okay.”

“He just had a _heart attack,_ Mama, I can’t just spring something like this on him when he’s–”

“ _Eric_ ,” she interrupts seriously, though her eyes are shining. “It will be okay. I promise.”

Upstairs, Bitty gets ready for bed on autopilot, replaying his mother’s words over and over again in his head and trying to make sense of them within the context of the reality he knows. It isn’t until Jack is standing in his doorway in pajama pants and a worn SMH T-Shirt, that Bitty comes back to himself.

“How are you doing?” Jack asks.

Bitty shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Would your mother mind it if I stayed in here tonight?”

“Probably. But I think I’m willing to ask forgiveness over permission just this once.”

Jack’s smile is a delicate thing, held together by love and sheer force of will through his obvious exhaustion, and then by Bitty’s hands on either side of his face when he reaches the bed.

It’s so familiar to fall into bed this way, but perhaps feels more familiar than it really should, given how rarely they’ve had a chance to do it. Bitty rests his head on Jack’s bicep, and his hand over Jack’s abdomen where Jack idly toys with it, as though mapping and committing to memory every finger’s contours, every hill and valley of Bitty’s knuckles, his palm, the inside of his wrist.

“It’s strange, Mama knowing,” Bitty whispers into the dark. “I’m glad, but… Telling her the truth was– I just never thought it’d be the _second_ scariest thing to happen to me in a single day.”

Jack pulls him into his chest a little tighter, and Bitty falls asleep to the rhythm of a careful hand stroking his hair back from his forehead.

The next day, they’re all up early for breakfast and then a trip to the hospital before they get started on that monumental to-do list. Jack accompanies the Bittles there, but then offers to make a coffee run for everyone while Bitty and his mother go up to Coach’s room.

“That would be lovely, Dear,” Mama tells him kindly. “But you hurry right on back to us when you’re done.”

Jack tosses Bitty an uncertain look, but all Bitty can do is mirror it right back at him.

Coach looks better today. The color is back in his cheeks, and his voice is just as naturally booming and authoritative when complaining about the hospital food as it is when describing plays to the boys on the football team.

Bitty leaves most of the conversation to his parents as they go over the new holiday plans. They banter back and forth about which doctors should be taken seriously and which are quacks who obviously have it out for Coach, and they argue, though not heatedly, about the change in Christmas dinner menu due to the new diet restrictions.

He’s almost not even paying attention anymore, too busy eyeing the door in worried anticipation over Jack’s arrival, when his mother says, “I told Cecilia that she and the boys better stay at their own place this year. We can do something with them for New Years if you’re feeling up to it. But Jack Zimmermann just got in last night– he’s spending Christmas here with us– so you won’t be left _entirely_ without your usual amount of seasonal sports talk.”

Coach’s eyebrows furrow inward, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. “He is?” He glances over at Bitty, who bites his lip and doesn’t say anything, then back at his wife.

“He is,” she confirms, in a tone that brooks no room for discussion, though she’s smiling now. “Alright?”

They seem to have some sort of silent conversation with their eyes that Bitty isn’t privy to, before Coach’s expression relaxes into one of quiet contentment. “Alright,” he says lightly. And then he turns to his son, catches his gaze with his own, and says again with a nod, “Alright.”

A raw, hysterical laugh escapes Bitty, pulled out of him so abruptly that it also pulls a few tears with it as well. Without any warning or hesitation he’s actually letting himself cry in front of his father for the first time since he was on the ground and winded during his one and only peewee football game.

Jack, of course, has the misfortune to arrive just then, holding a cardboard tray of drinks in one hand. He startles at the expression he sees on Bitty’s face, fumbling a step backwards the way he came.

“I can… go?” he says uncertainly, like he’s worried that he’s responsible for the upset.

Bitty laughs again, a little brokenly, and shakes his head. “No. No, Sweetheart, please stay.”

Without hesitation Jack moves forward and takes Bitty’s hand. “Of course. Always.” Then he looks up at Coach and Mama, as if suddenly remembering they’re there. “Uh. I also brought tea?”

Mama laughs brightly. And Coach chuckles. “Well as long as you’re the only one drinking it, I think we’ll be just fine, son.”

Bitty bites back a grin and ducks his head. “Thank you,” he whispers, not even sure who in the room he means to direct it to. But he’s never meant it more.


End file.
